


What We Owe To Each Other

by Emeraldwoman



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Magic, Vampires, snark is foreplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 20:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18483985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeraldwoman/pseuds/Emeraldwoman
Summary: After that very minor vampirism problem, Stephen owes Tony six favours. Tony calls them in.





	What We Owe To Each Other

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twobettafish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twobettafish/gifts).
  * Inspired by [If You Want Blood (You've Got It)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16745677) by [twobettafish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twobettafish/pseuds/twobettafish). 



> This fic will make very little sense without reading its predecessor and direct inspiration, If You Want Blood (You Got It) by twobettafish. 
> 
> Merry Christmas 2018, Betts!

**6.**

“Hey, remember that time you were a vampire and now you owe me six favours?” Tony Stark’s voice said. There was a muffled roar in the background, and the background noise of the call sharpened to a piercing whine. Then Tony’s voice was back; a little breathless, a lot exhilarated. 

“I recall,” Stephen said. The Cloak was already wrapping itself around his shoulders, his sling ring sparking as he drew power from the universe and felt the world shift. “Where are you?”

The audio crackled with static. “-- warm up those spirit fingers, because I’m calling one --”

“Where are you?” Stephen repeated, louder.

The line went dead. “Idiot,” Stephen said, and performed a quick location spell.

A few seconds later, he was levitating over a dormant volcano in Iceland. Massive grey beings were forcing their way out of the ancient soil, each multi-limbed creature disturbingly graceful. They didn’t seem to have heads, as such, but a cluster of appendages at the apex, which twisted after the tiny figures persistently attempting to impede their progress.

A smoking Quinjet had tumbled to the foot of the volcano, lying half on top of a fallen foe. Pieces of more creatures, perhaps two or three of them, were scattered around it. Stephen caught a blur of dark pink from the corner of his eye as the Scarlet Witch tore a limb off one of the beings, and the crackle-boom of heavy ordinance as Colonel Rhodes targeted another. The Avengers were clearly doing what they could.

Given time, and perhaps heavy casualties, they would win.

But he could see why Tony had made the call. 

One of the beings turned in his direction and swiped at him, astonishingly fast for its mass. Stephen let the Cloak whisk him out of harm’s way, and got to work.

After several decades in an operating theatre, there wasn’t much that Stephen found disgusting, recent experiences with attempting to drink cold blood being a distinct anomaly. The portals cut cleanly, cauterising the wounds and preventing seepage, and by closely observing his earliest successes, Stephen was quickly able to determine the most effective spots to target. The Avengers took note and followed his lead.

Stephen had carefully not looked for gold and red armour on his arrival. If Stark was alive, then good. If he was dead, then Stephen could do nothing, either as a sorcerer or as a surgeon. Nevertheless, he was surprised by just how relieved he felt when a blue-white beam of energy lanced over his shoulder and tore through one of the last of their foes.

“Miss me?” Iron Man said, hovering in front of him.

“Aren’t you retired?” Stephen replied.

“You’re hilarious, Harry Potter. Come on, let’s take a look.” 

They both settled beside the remnants of one of the more shredded beings, where Captain America was studying a smoking hunk of grey flesh. “Is this stuff toxic?” he asked, glancing at Iron Man.

Tony popped his faceplate open. “Not on initial scan. I’m not saying the locals should turn it into sushi, but I don’t think it’s gonna cause two-headed calves. I’ll need to get it back to the lab to make sure.”

“Thanks,” Wilson said, his smile easygoing. “And thank you too, Doctor,” he added, nodding at Stephen.

Stephen nodded back. It was still a little strange to see another man hoisting the iconic shield, but from what he could tell, Wilson had stepped smoothly into the shoes of Captain America. “Of course,” he said. “I’m glad I was able to assist.”

“Are they-- you know. Your area of expertise?”

Stephen tried a basic divination spell, and frowned. “They’re not extra-dimensional entities,” he said. “They could be of alien origin, I suppose. Or they could be a species native to Earth. They appear to be a physical threat, but I could discern no sign of energy manipulation belonging to… my area of expertise. I’m afraid I can’t be more help than that.”

“Crap,” Tony said suddenly, and both of the other men tensed, searching the area. Tony didn’t go shooting into the air, however. He pointed an accusing, armoured finger at Stephen. “I didn’t need to call in the favour, did I?”

“What favour?” Wilson asked.

Stephen smirked.

“All I had to do was tell you this was going down, and you would have teleported over here to slice and dice! I wasted a favour!”

“I suppose you did,” Stephen said smoothly. “What a terrible shame.”

“Ugh. Well, whatever. Want to join me in the lab? Do some of that voodoo you do?” 

“Vodou is actually a creolised complex system of- never mind. Is that the next favour?”

Tony’s eyes glinted, and Stephen had the suspicion that he’d just made a mistake. “No,” Tony said, drawing out the word. “No, that’s just an invitation. I think I’ll save my next favour for something really _special_.”

 

**5.**

 

“Get me a coffee,” Tony said, three days later. He’d summoned Stephen to his lab, where he was simultaneously running biochemical analysis on a chunk of grey flesh, redesigning a radiation trap for one of his ridiculous suits, and making Stephen’s life _a living hell_.

Depending on one’s metaphysics and opinions of the Dark Dimensions, Stephen had already lived through hell. He felt the comparison was justified.

Stephen closed his eyes. “I’m charged with the protection of every peaceful being, corporeal or incorporeal, in this dimension,” he said wearily. 

“And you still owe me five favours,” Tony said. “I want a vanilla latte.”

Stephen’s eyes narrowed. Tony kept beaming at him. Stephen was hoping he’d spontaneously combust from all that obnoxious performative cheerfulness.

The universe failed to comply.

“Fine,” Stephen said at last, and pulled out his phone. Tony would doubtless love it if he tried to actually _make_ him the beverage, but Stephen had never inquired into the arcane art of the barista. There were, after all, limits to knowledge. “Siri, where is the nearest Starbucks?”

“Oh no,” Tony said, over Siri’s mellow tones, still grinning. “Not the nearest Starbucks. I want a vanilla latte from the original Starbucks. I’m assuming that if you can dump me in Miami, you can get yourself to Seattle, right?”

“For the last time, _dimensional invasion_ is more than sufficient reason to momentarily forget that you didn’t have a nanounit under your fetching athleisure wear.” Stephen realised his mistake at the same moment Tony’s mouth pursed with pleasure.

“Speaking of fetching-” he began.

“Fine,” Stephen said, and opened a portal to Seattle. Wasting five minutes to order a coffee was far better than wasting twenty on an argument with a smirking Tony Stark.

He returned fifty minutes later, the Cloak’s collar damp with drizzle.

“Long queue?” Tony asked solicitously.

Stephen slammed the cardboard cup down on the lab bench. “Drink your coffee,” he ordered. Why tourists thought coffee from the original Starbucks was worth queuing for when it was all the same mass-roasted, over-sugared, under-caffeinated slop was a mystery beyond his comprehension. But they did. They’d waited for nearly an hour in line, _in the rain_ , and he’d had to wait with them.

“Mmm, no thanks,” Tony said, raising a mug with the Captain America shield on it to his lips. “My assistant brewed a pot.”

Stephen’s lips curled from his teeth. His jaw clenched.

“Wow,” Tony said innocently. “You look mad enough to bite.”

Stephen stepped back, the fury abruptly contained. “Four favours left,” he said through gritted teeth, and walked through a portal without waiting for Tony’s reply.

 

**4.**

 

“The original Starbucks,” Christine said, shaking her head. Stephen had meant for their meeting to be an opportunity for her to unwind and unload, a coffee with a friend on her day off. Unfortunately, she’d asked him what he’d been up to lately. Equally unfortunately, he’d told her.

At least she seemed sympathetic. “Was it any different at all?” she asked.

“The baristas did tricks,” Stephen said grimly. “The coffee, however, was ubiquitously terrible.”

“You’re a snob,” Christine said, without any actual condemnation, and bit into her second macaron. The expression of bliss that washed across her face reminded Stephen of a few other, less public, more naked occasions. 

She opened her eyes and caught his expression. “What?”

“I’m just thinking about the time with the strawberries.”

She laughed. “That was fun.”

“It was,” Stephen agreed, and let the memories go with only a touch of regret. He sipped at his espresso. _This_ was a real cafe. And real coffee. “What does your schedule look like this week? I thought it might be nice to take in a show.”

Christine’s eyebrows arched. “The last play we went to resulted in me operating on a puncture wound you self-inflicted by stabbing yourself in the heart with a magical knife. To cure vampirism.””

“Maybe a musical?” Stephen offered. He frowned as his cell phone went off, and rolled his eyes when he glanced at the caller ID. “Sorry, Christine.” He raised the phone to his mouth. “You know, I put this thing on silent.”

“I noticed. That was very cute of you,” Tony replied. He sounded distracted. “I’m calling in another favour.”

“I’m busy, Stark.”

Tony snorted. “Busy hanging out at Bluestone Lane?” 

“With a friend,” Stephen said, laying emphasis on the last word. “So, unless this is an actual emergen-” He looked up, startled, as Christine laid her hand on his wrist.

“Actually,” she said, “I’d like to see this.”

Stephen stared at her. Christine leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Consider it one of the many favours you owe _me_ ,” she said.

“It is kind of an emergency,” Tony was saying, apparently unruffled. Stephen couldn’t tell whether he’d heard Christine’s assent, or just assumed that Stephen would ignore her in order to carry out whatever trifling request he’d come up with this time. “I promised Pete I’d write him a recommendation letter for his MIT application, and his aunt just gave me a call and it turns out the application package is due today.” His voice shaded with something that might have been respect, or, just possibly, fear. “Quick note: avoid getting on May Parker’s bad side.”

“So why aren’t you writing it?” Stephen asked.

“Remember those grey guys from Iceland?”

“Vividly.”

“They’re maybe under some other dormant volcanoes.” 

Stephen tapped his fingers against the table. Christine was clearly eavesdropping for all she was worth, eyes widening in speculation. “Wonderful.” 

“Anyway, I’m fine-tuning the algorithm to find them now, no worries, just the fate of the world at stake, Pete should be there in a couple of minutes, write him a good one, will you?” He hung up without further fanfare.

“Who is ‘Pete’?” Christine asked.

Stephen surveyed their surroundings. In typical New York fashion, every other patron seemed intent upon their own business, but he wove an aural concealment spell around their table - nothing too dramatic, but something that would blur their voices and make it impossible for anyone to make out exactly what they said.

“Pete is Spider-Man,” he said.

“Spider-Man needs help with his college applications?” Christine asked, looking amused, and then abruptly uneasy. “Stephen. Is Spider-Man a high school student? Is he-- My God, how old is he?”

“I’d never given it much thought,” Stephen admitted uneasily. “I suppose… young.” The bell over the door chimed, and Peter Parker walked in, all nervous goodwill and jittery energy. He wore jeans and a Midtown High hoodie, and he looked about twelve years old.

Stephen was almost certain he was older than that, but he didn’t blame Christine as her expression deepened into actual concern. “Brace yourself,” he advised her, and lifted his hand to signal Parker over.

“Hi!” Parker said. “Can I grab this chair? Thanks! Okay! Hi! Thanks for seeing me, Doctor Strange. I really appreciate it! Mister Stark said he was busy with something big, but of course a recommendation from you is also…” He hesitated, obviously grappling with disappointment, before he finished valiantly: “It’s really good!” He held out his hand to Christine. “Hi, I’m Peter Parker.”

She shook it, looking fascinated. “Doctor Christine Palmer.”

“Doctor? Are you like, also…?” He lowered his voice, and wiggled his fingers in what he probably thought was a mystical way.

Christine laughed. “I’m an ER surgeon at Metro General.”

“Oh, cool!” Parker said. “Um, so, Doctor Strange, I brought my application package, and it’s kind of geared towards the sciences, but I guess a general recommendation about my character would also be great, so-”

“Are you really Spider-Man?” Christine blurted.

Parker jumped in his chair, and shot Stephen an accusing look.

“I have complete confidence in Doctor Palmer,” Stephen told him. “And in her discretion.”

For a moment, the ebullient energy dropped from Parker’s face, and Stephen caught a glimpse of what he would look like when he grew into his wide features, older and more sombre. Then his spine straightened and he looked at Christine. “Yes,” he said simply. “Please don’t tell anyone. I need to keep my friends and family safe.”

“I won’t,” Christine said, and Stephen might have spared a moment for mild guilt, except that his mind had started poking at something else Parker had said, like a tongue probing a sore tooth.

“Why do you think I can only offer a character reference?” he asked, a little more acerbically than he liked.

“MIT is for technology and science research?” Parker said.

“Yes?”

“And you’re--” he wiggled his fingers again.

“Parker,” Stephen said. “Are you under the impression that I have a doctorate in the mystic arts?”

Parker looked at Christine, who had clamped her hand over her mouth. Her eyes gave ample evidence that she was laughing silently behind the concealment, and Stephen resolved to pay her back for it later. “I thought like. Maybe. Philosophy?” 

“I have an MD and a PhD in Neuroscience from Johns Hopkins University,” Stephen said. “I am -- was -- one of the leading surgical researchers in the world.”

“Oh. Mister Stark never said.”

“Of course he didn’t.” Stephen sighed and reigned in his temper. With some effort. It wasn’t Parker’s fault, exactly, but couldn’t he have at least hit Google? “What I mean to say is that I think that my recommendation letter will be helpful.”

“Have you ever written one before?” Christine asked dubiously. 

“It can’t be difficult,” Stephen hedged. “Why, have you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course. Peter, if you don’t mind, I have a few questions that might help speed this up.”

Parker brightened. “Sure!”

“Why are you applying for MIT?” she asked.

“Well, you know. I like science and making things.” Parker twisted his fingers together. “Plus Mr Stark said he had pull, and I, um, I really need scholarships. My aunt, she’s really great, but we don’t have a-”

“What kind of things have you made?”

“Well, at school I built a solar-powered robot for Robot Club. And I did some 3D printer design. We all made dirt bikes in Mechanical Engineering - that was fun.” 

“And as Spider-Man?”

“I can’t put that in the application!”

“I know,” Christine said patiently. “But just to give me an idea. You have a lot of gadgets, don’t you?”

“Most of that’s Mister Stark’s work now. When I first started, I built a police scanner myself. And my original eye mask - I needed to cut down on the sensory information, or I got all overwhelmed when I was flipping around. I had to design and make my own tools for that, too. I made the web shooters, though Mister Stark gave me upgraded ones.” He thought. “And the web fluid, I guess. I’m still refining the formula for that.”

“This web fluid,” Christine said. “That’s the stuff that lets you swing from buildings?”

“Yeah. And it can tie people up, stick them to walls, that kind of thing, before it dissolves. It’s actually two compounds I put together. When they combine and are exposed to oxygen, they solidify and expand. The tensile strength’s great, but it’s still flexible enough that I get a kind of bungee effect.” 

Parker was a lot more confident talking about science, Stephen noted, as he traded glances with Christine. But was he truly ignorant of the implications of what he was saying? “This stuff is biochemical?” he asked.

“Yep.”

“And sterile?” Christine asked.

“Oh, sure. And non-toxic and hypoallergenic. I thought, you know, criminals have allergies too.”

“How long does it last?”

“About an hour? Getting it down to that was the trickiest part. When I first worked on it, it was like maybe a week. I accidentally stuck my gym uniform to the floor and I had to keep telling Coach Wilson that my dog had peed on it. I’m pretty sure he knew I didn’t have a dog. But I was still pretending to be, like, non-athletic, and I hate dodgeball anyway, so he-” 

“Stephen,” Christine said. Her eyes were urgent. 

Stephen’s voice was equally tense. “Mr Parker. Are you telling me that you invented, in a high school lab, a non-toxic, hypoallergenic, tensile, non-permeable adherent that can be stored in liquid form and sprayed on any surface, including the human body, which will dissipate without ill effect after an hour?”

“Well. Yeah.” He looked from one adult to the other. “Is that… good?”

“It could revolutionise emergency medicine,” Christine said.

“Substantial testing would be required,” Stephen pointed out.

“No kidding, but, Jesus, Stephen, the number of people we lose to bleed-out before we can get them into theatre--” She shook her head sharply and turned to Peter. “You could save so many lives. For generations. If this is what you can do in high school, I can’t wait to see what you manage with a real lab.”

Parker’s eyes went huge. “So you’ll write the letter, Doctor Strange?”

“If he doesn’t, I will.”

Stephen smiled. “I’d be delighted, Parker. But let me ask you something first: Are you absolutely adamant about MIT?”

An hour later, after effusive thanks, Parker left, and Christine grinned at Stephen. “I feel like we did good work there.”

Stephen signaled the barista for a third cup, and sat back in his chair. “We do work well together,” he agreed. 

Even better; he’d definitely won that round.

 

**3.**

 

The hammering on the Sanctum door was becoming intolerable.

“It’s for you,” Wong said.

“I’m aware,” Stephen said, and chewed his last bite of toast in a leisurely manner.

Wong coughed.

“I’m getting there,” Stephen promised. He rinsed out his coffee mug, waved the Cloak off when it tried to wrap around his shoulders, and ambled downstairs to open the door. “Good morning, Tony. Isn’t it a lovely day?”

“Johns Hopkins?” Tony snarled, marching into the foyer. “You wrote Pete a recommendation letter for _your_ alma mater?”

“You must admit it’s a much better fit,” Stephen told him. “MIT is fine for engineers, I suppose, but a biological sciences prodigy like Parker is better suited to--”

“Give me your phone,” Tony said, and thrust his hand out. His eyes were nearly black, snapping with rage.

Vague apprehension began to impinge upon Stephen’s enjoyment of the moment. “Why?”

“Because I’m calling in my next favour, you protege-stealing dick!”

With a growing sense of doom, Stephen handed it over, and watched Tony rapidly enter data. “Are you sure? You’ll only have two after this. Maybe you should save it.”

“I’m sure,” Tony said, and smacked the phone into Stephen’s chest. “Enjoy your new ringtone. Don’t bother trying to change it.” He marched towards the door.

Stephen hurriedly dove into the menu and pulled up the relevant information. “You can’t be serious!”

Tony turned and grinned at him. “If the shoe fits, asshole.” He disappeared with a jaunty wave.

“You’re the one who humped my leg!” Stephen yelled after him.

The throat-clearing behind him was very, very loud. Stephen turned. Wong was at the top of the stairs, looking absolutely fascinated. “What was that about?” he said.

Stephen’s phone rang; a crescendo of sharp guitar chords, building to the pounding rhythms of one of AC/DC’s biggest hits. Wong’s eyes widened. “Is that… ‘If You Want Blood’?”

“You got it,” Stephen said grimly. “Remember when you went on that librarian conclave? There was a minor -- very minor -- problem. With vampires.”

So. That was probably one to Tony.

 

**2.**

 

“Amazing,” Christine said. “He’s won two, and you’ve won two. A draw.”

“I suppose,” Stephen said grumpily. “So far.”

She didn’t even try to muffle her laughter. He held the phone away from his ear until it subsided and her voice came back. “I can’t believe you met your match, and he’s the only person in the world who might be more annoying than you.”

“I’m not annoying!” Stephen said. “I’m abrupt, rude, and arrogant, but I’m not _irritating_.”

“Tell that to anyone you’ve ever worked with, Stephen. Me included.”

“I was focused!” he protested. “I didn’t play stupid pranks, or demand idiotic favours. I just didn’t have time for chatter or inconsequential nonsense.”

“Which people found really annoying about you,” Christine said. “Small talk is kind of an essential social lubricant.”

He snorted. Small talk was a pointless waste of everyone’s time. “And what do you mean, my _match_?”

There was a thoughtful pause. “I didn’t mean anything in particular,” Christine said. “Should I?” 

Stephen heard the distinct sound of a door closing, and the fuzz of his voice going to speaker. “Are you about to drive?” he demanded.

“Yes? Oh. It’s fine. I’m just leaving work.”

“I’m hanging up,” Stephen told her. He put the phone down and tried to concentrate on the scroll Wong had pointedly placed on his desk that morning. Tony’s “grey guys” weren’t, technically, mystical, but they were potentially mentioned in a number of texts the librarians of Kamar-Taj had meticulously preserved.

Wong had pointed Stephen to a version of the Epic of Gilgamesh in the library, focusing on the hero’s defeat of the giant Humbaba. According to the tale, Gilgamesh had stripped Humbaba of his seven “radiances”, and his ally Enkidu had then decapitated the giant. 

The Kamar-Taj text had apparently been taken down by one of the ancient mystics from an oral recitation, rather than recorded from the Sumerian clay tablets. The “radiances” were described as “writhing”.

Stephen groaned, and called Tony.

“What up, Fang Man?”

“Can you stop?” Stephen demanded.

“I can. Not sure that I will.”

“I have something that might help with your big grey friends.” Stephen took a picture of the text and sent it through.

“What am I looking at?”

“Oh, right. You can’t read cuneiform.” He translated, and let Tony draw his own conclusions.

“Our guys had seven shorter bits where the heads would have been,” Tony said, and whistled. “Radiances. Yeah, okay, that might help. If they’re some kind of sensory equipment, and we can disable them before going in-- Are you sure it’s the same guys?”

“No,” Stephen admitted. “Some carvings of Humbaba depict him as having curly hair and a twisting beard, but they’re attached to a head. It could be coincidence.”

“Or it could be Sumerians trying to make sense of something outside their experience. Worth looking into, anyway. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“About the next favour.”

Stephen braced himself. “Yes?”

Tony sounded unusually serious. “I’m getting married in a month.”

“Do not ask me to organise your bachelor party,” Stephen warned.

“What? No.” Tony sounded insulted. “Rhodey’s doing that. Oh, hey, I should tell him you’re coming.”

“I am?” Was it common, these days, to invite someone to your bachelor party when they weren’t invited to your wedding? 

“Duh.” Stephen felt almost touched, until Tony added, “Every bachelor party needs a mom friend. Normally that would be Rhodey, but I want him wasted, and booze makes him better at ignoring my terrible choices. Practice being a buzzkill, would you? Wait, what am I thinking? You don’t need practice.”

“Tony.”

“Aw, don’t be mad. Mom friend is an important role.”

“I’m not mad,” Stephen snapped.

“Oh no. Are you disappointed?”

“Tell me the favour,” Stephen ground out. “Or I will count it as enduring this conversation.”

“Right,” Tony said, and dropped back into that odd earnestness. “I’m marrying Pepper. In a month. And she puts up with… well, way too much, really. She’s too good for me. Honestly, she’s too good for anyone, but she’s waaaay too good for me, so…” He trailed off.

“The favour?” Stephen prompted.

“I want a wedding dress. Like. The best wedding dress in any dimension. A wedding dress so amazing that Thor cries. I mean, I bet Thor cries at weddings anyway, but I want him sobbing, you get me?”

“Doesn’t she already have a dress?” Stephen didn’t count wedding planning as one of his areas of expertise, but he was pretty certain that every detail of the Potts-Stark wedding had been meticulously prepared well in advance.

“Oh yeah. I haven’t seen it, but I’m sure it’s great. Pepper’s good at that. But I want it to be the best. I want it to be _magic_. So, are you free on Tuesday? I’ll set up the meeting.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? Me spending time with Ms Potts?”

“Yes,” Tony said blankly. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

 _Because a few weeks ago I bit into your throat and it was the most sensual experience of my life, and from the way you were grinding against me, I’m pretty sure you felt something similar_ , Stephen did not say. “Because of that thing,” he said instead. “The one you don’t want me to ever mention.”

“Didn’t remember that before you yelled it at me yesterday, did you?”

“You have a unique ability to erode my social boundaries,” Stephen said dryly.

“Like you have any. Anyway, yeah, it’s fine. Pepper knows.”

Stephen felt a fist clench around his heart. “How, exactly?”

“I told her,” Tony said, sounding surprised. “You left a pretty big mark on my neck, man, of course she was going to ask. Besides, I don’t lie to her anymore. That’s kinda the deal.”

“Really,” Stephen bit out. “Do you still tell her you’re retired?”

“I _am_ retired,” Tony snapped back. He audibly sucked in a breath, and Stephen could picture exactly how he looked, pulling himself back together. “Is Tuesday good or not?”

On the one hand, spending time with a woman who had every right to resent him. On the other, removing the second-to-last debt he owed Tony Stark.

“Tuesday,” Stephen agreed, and went back to scanning ancient languages.

On Tuesday morning, Stephen showed up to his appointment. He’d dressed with some care, but hadn’t been able to avoid a cut while shaving. The tremor in his hands hardly bothered him, these days, but it returned at moments of stress, and apparently meeting Pepper Potts was going to be one of those.

She looked nearly the same as she had on their first meeting. Dressed differently, of course, in a crisp pastel business suit, rather than a jogging outfit, and her hair smoothed back into an elegant knot, but the intelligence in her eyes and the considering look she gave him as her assistant ushered him into her office was just the same.

“Thank you for coming, Doctor Strange,” she said, and rose from her desk.

“You’re very welcome, Ms Potts.” At her unspoken direction, Stephen settled himself in a low chair by a coffee table.

“Please call me Pepper,” she said, taking a seat of her own and smiling graciously at him. He had absolutely no idea whether the smile was sincere or not. It felt sincere, but he was also sure that Ms Potts -- Pepper -- was adept at faking sincerity.

“Then I’m Stephen,” he replied, and hoped that was enough small talk for him to politely get to business. “If you can give me some ideas about what you’re looking for, I can start travelling to various realms to gather materials.”

Pepper folded her hands in her lap. “I already have a dress.”

“I thought you would,” Stephen said, bemused.

Pepper’s lips curved again. “It was a sweet thought of Tony’s, but his taste and mine don’t always align. I suspect he wants me bedecked in priceless gems or fabrics not available on this planet. Perhaps actual fireworks. That sort of thing.”

“That was my impression, yes.” He coughed. “So why did you consent?”

“I really just wanted to meet you. In a less urgent setting than our first encounter.”

“Oh.” Stephen had gone through subjective years of torture at the hands of an all-powerful, vastly malevolent entity. Sitting in a glass-walled room with this quiet woman should not have made him nervous. He schooled his face into impassivity.

It was apparently wasted effort. Pepper reached out a slender hand and touched his own. “It’s all right, Stephen. It’s fine with me that you and Tony are sleeping together.”

Stephen stared at her, while every neuron in his brain exploded.

“You. What? We didn’t really— the circumstances were—.“ He shut his mouth, then opened it again. “It was one unavoidable encounter,” he said, and managed to make that sound a little more sane. “Not an ongoing event.”

“Oh.” Pepper looked bemused. “Oh dear, I’m sorry. You spend so much time together, and Tony speaks of you so often, I had just assumed--”

“We’re not having sex,” he assured her. His hands were trembling again. What did she mean that it was _fine_? Was theirs a completely open relationship, or were certain partners allowed within certain parameters, and what were they, and how--

Pepper was frowning slightly. “Would you like to be?” she asked. 

The instant denial leapt into Stephen’s mouth, ready to be voiced. But it wouldn’t come out. “I hadn’t really considered it,” he said, distantly proud of the way his voice wavered only a little. 

Tony Stark. All that fire and brilliance and charm and stubbornness, packed into that small frame and the uncompromising force of his personality. His clever engineer’s hands, his fast-leaping mind, the way he’d looked and felt and moved in Stephen’s arms. And Pepper Potts was implying -- _was_ she implying? -- that Tony wanted him. Him. Stephen Strange.

Oh. 

Pepper patted his shoulder. “Maybe you should consider it,” she advised.

Stephen was quite certain that, for the foreseeable future, he’d be able to think about little else. “The dress!” he blurted.

Pepper blinked at him, but seemed willing to follow his lead. “Yes?”

“I should do something,” he said. “For the dress. Something, because of the favour. Something tasteful, nothing tacky; something you’d like.”

“Oh yes, those favours.” She tapped her lips. “It would help if you didn’t owe any to Tony, wouldn’t it?”

“It really would,” he agreed fervently. _Help with what?_ , the dazed and dazzled part of his mind wondered. _Stop it_ , he told that irrational part of himself. _Now is not the time_.

Pepper had pulled up her images of her dress. It was all clean lines and ivory lace, with subtle diamante beading and a minimal train. Definitely not indulging Tony’s taste for theatrics. “What did you have in mind?”

Stephen conjured a full-sized illusion of the dress. Pepper jumped in her seat, and then laughed, a little self-consciously. “How about something like this?’ he suggested, and added a shimmering light effect to the lining. It glowed, warm and bright, through the lace overlay.

“Oh!” Pepper said. “That’s really quite lovely. Could you tone it down a little? Maybe shift it more towards cool tones?”

“Easily.” Stephen adjusted brightness and colour along the spectrum. “Just say when.”

“There,” she decided. Her smile had a hint of proprietary smugness as she gazed at her gown. The shimmer was very subtle now, something that caught the eye and intrigued the mind. “That’s perfect. And utterly unique.” She clasped her hands together. “That will do very nicely, Stephen. Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Stephen said automatically, and then wondered why he felt grateful. “Well. If you’ll allow me to alter the dress perhaps a week before the wedding--”

“Can’t you do it there?” 

“I wasn’t invited,” Stephen said. “Wong was,” he added, in response to her frown. “He’ll be there. He can do the effect, if you’d prefer it on the day.”

“No, you’re definitely invited,” Pepper said, and pulled up a dizzyingly huge virtual file of her wedding planning. She smoothly extracted the file marked RSVPs and showed him the completed guest list and seating arrangements. “See?”

The entry was dated from the day Thanos had been defeated. Stephen swallowed hard. He’d become accustomed to remembering, in detail, the long work and aching horrors of the time before that defeat. He was the only one who remembered everything. Only a few others remembered anything, and that merely fuzzy outlines of how the galaxy had been so badly damaged, and then restored.

Tony had evidently remembered that Stephen had helped. That they’d become friends.

He’d remembered enough that he’d given Stephen a seat at the high table on his wedding day.

Of course, in typical Tony fashion, he had then neglected to _tell_ Stephen that.

Pepper was watching him. “Ah,” she said. “Can I take it that this is one of Tony’s famous surprises? He’s probably planning to spring it on you soon.”

“He invited me to his bachelor party,” Stephen said, through numb lips. “That would be a good time.”

“Sounds about right,” Pepper agreed. She pursed her lips. “If you can’t come, Stephen, we’d both miss you. But I’d understand.”

“He’s probably planning it to be the last favour,” Stephen realised.

“Yes,” Pepper agreed. Her eyes were faintly sad. “He probably is.”

Stephen couldn’t bear it. Tony Stark, arrogant beyond belief, competent beyond compare, thought he’d have to _compel_ Stephen to attend his wedding. “You invite me,” he said abruptly. “And tell him you did. So he doesn’t have to-- so he still has the favour.”

Pepper blinked. Then she grinned, an impish expression that made her look twenty years younger. “Stephen, you did such great work on my dress. I wonder, would you like to come to my wedding?”

“I’d be delighted,” Stephen said, and shook her hand.

 

**1.**

 

“Pep says you did good,” Tony said. Not for the first time, Stephen wished he could see his face when he was on the phone, but Tony’s voice betrayed a certain studied casualness. “She also said she invited you to the wedding.”

“Yes, and I accepted,” Stephen said, adjusting an orrery designed to display the complex motion of a Mhurruuk system in the Dark Dimensions. The Mhurruuk were supposed to be extinct, but Wong had heard rumours of a few survivors. “I’d like to come to your wedding. If it’s not an imposition.”

Tony sighed theatrically, but couldn’t quite conceal his pleasure. “I’m sure we can find you a place near the kitchen.”

“Good, then. Thank you.”

“She also gave me an idea about what to do for your last favour.”

“Really,” Stephen said. “Am I to fetch you a burger from the original McDonald’s? Sing you ‘Happy Birthday’? Walk naked through Times Square?”

From the arrested pause at the other end of the line, Stephen was fairly sure Tony was imagining the last. “No,” he said at last, sounding a little reluctant. “It’s a better idea than that. Come to dinner tonight, you and your Christine.”

“She’s her own Christine, Stark, and she may have plans.”

“She’s not on call, she doesn’t have plans, and it’s dinner at Le Bernadin,” Tony retorted. “She’ll come.”

Stephen sighed. Christine loved seafood. “I’ll ask her,” he promised.

Christine, of course, demanded details. Stephen edited out Pepper’s more startling revelation, but told her the story of the dress and the wedding invitation. “You let him keep a favour?” she asked finally, her voice dubious.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time. I’m wondering if I should regret it,” Stephen admitted.

Christine hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I’ve got to admit I can’t wait to see what he’s got in store for you.”

“Whose side are you on?” Stephen demanded.

“Mine, of course. It’s been a tough month, and I could use some entertainment.” She paused. “Stephen?”

“Yes?’

“If I ever get married, will you do the light effect thing for me?”

“I’m hanging up now,” he told her, and heard the delighted echo of her laughter as he did.

The delight wasn’t really in evidence as they sat down for dinner that evening. Instead, Christine was eyeing Tony with the kind of caution usually inspired by thoracic aortic dissection repair, or perhaps as if he were a bomb that had supposedly been defused, but might actually detonate at any moment, shattering the glasses and spattering the diners with exquisitely crafted Lobster Paloise.

Stephen recognised the look. He’d been the target of it more than once. He was feeling somewhat nervous himself. Le Bernadin would never crowd its diners, and yet he could feel the heat of Tony’s body on his left side, the crackling electricity of his presence. He accepted a menu from the server, and pretended to read it, trying to keep his gaze away from Tony’s mobile mouth.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve called you here today,” Tony began, looking far too innocent.

“Isn’t it to ask the last favour?” Christine asked.

“That’s what he told me five hours ago,” Stephen replied.

“Let me have my moment!” Tony said. “I’ve always wanted to say that, and now you’ve both ruined it.”

Stephen shrugged. Christine took a sip of water.

“Okay, fine. I talked to Pepper, and she reminded me that hell hath no fury like a woman neglected, and also that no one can torture you better than the person who knows you best.”

The pieces dropped into place. Stephen felt his spine shudder with reaction. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Tony said. “Christine, I’d like to give you a gift. The gift of my very last favour.” He beamed munificently at her, and then immediately cut his eyes to Stephen. “Now, there’s no time limit on this. You may want to wait and really put some thought into what you most deeply desire. Consider all of the possibilities.”

She could leave Stephen wriggling on the hook for _years_. Tony wasn't capable of that. He didn’t have the patience. But Christine did.

“I don’t need to wait,” Christine said tartly, and twisted in her chair to level her most no-nonsense stare at Stephen. “I know what I want.”

Stephen tried to suppress his wince. _You owe her too much to argue. Whatever this is, you deserve it. Unless it’s incredibly humiliating._ “Yes?”

Christine smiled. “Stephen, I want you to introduce me to Pepper Potts.”

Tony’s own smile slipped. “What? No, come on, that’s boring. Choose something good.”

“Stop helping, Tony,” Stephen said through gritted teeth.

“ _I’ll_ introduce you to Pepper!” Tony offered. “You can choose something else!”

Christine’s eyes gleamed, and she shifted, her attention going back to Tony.

“She already asked,” Stephen said quickly. “I’ll do it. That’s the favour. Done.”

Tony slumped into his chair. “You disappoint me, Doctor Palmer. I’m disappointed.”

“I’m crushed,” Christine told him, and opened her wine list. “You’re buying, right, Mr Stark? Where’s that sommelier?”

Dinner, once Tony stopped sulking, was the most enjoyable experience Stephen had had for weeks. He and Christine tried to outmatch each other with stories of their bloodiest, strangest cases, while Tony contributed several appalling anecdotes about student pranks at MIT -- “Where Pete should be going, Bitemaster, and don’t think I’m going to forget that” -- and ended the evening by casually funding their server’s entry to culinary school. “Do you need a ride?” he asked Christine as they retrieved their coats and stepped into the evening.

“I can portal her,” Stephen said immediately.

“Please, boys, you’re both pretty. And I’ve already ordered my Lyft.” She flashed her cellphone screen at them for proof, kissed Stephen on the cheek, and said good night.

Without the social buffer of her presence, Stephen’s tension returned. Tony was fidgeting with his phone, not meeting his eyes.

The favours were gone. Stephen should have been relieved. But it had just occurred to him that there was now nothing to tie them together.

“Do you want a drink?” he offered, at the same time Tony said, “Want to come back to my place?”

“For a drink?” Stephen asked.

Tony looked up. The intensity of his expression made it like being suddenly noticed by the sun. “Sure. Or we could make out.”

Stephen let out his breath in a long exhale. Evidently, Pepper didn’t keep secrets from Tony, either. “I’d like that,” he said.

“Sure?” Tony said. He didn’t move. 

So Stephen did, reaching out long fingers that trembled just a little, to hold Tony’s square, calloused hand. “Yes,” he said, and called up a portal with his free hand. “I’d like that a lot.”

 

**0\. Six months later.**

 

“Your ex-girlfriend is dating my wife!” Tony seethed, walking back and forth across the Sanctum’s polished wooden floor.

“You’re dating me,” Stephen pointed out. “You can hardly get upset about infidelity.”

Tony stopped long enough to roll his eyes. “I’m not upset about _that_. Infidelity? What is this, the Middle Ages?” 

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The _problem_ is that now they can gang up on us, Stephen! The Maria Stark Foundation is already funding the development of Pete’s wound sealant, and Pepper’s talking about me developing a portable, low-cost MRI alternative, and I know she didn’t get that idea from me!”

Actually, Stephen had casually mentioned that to Pepper, but he didn’t think now was the right time to mention it. “That all sounds good,” he said instead.

“You think so?” Tony said ominously. “Wait until you start getting pressured to come up with emissions-free transportation systems.”

“Portals?” Stephen said, and got to his feet. “They wouldn’t…”

Tony whirled and pointed a finger at him. “They would! Those women are relentless! And impossible to deny! And completely right about the necessity of these-- damn it, I’m going to make these dumb MRIs.”

Tony’s phone started ringing. At the same time, a number of alarm spells Stephen had set began to vibrate in the Astral Realm.

Then his own, still horrible, ringtone sounded through the study.

Stephen silenced the lot with a wave of his hand and grabbed Tony’s arm. “The grey giants are emerging,” he said. “All at once, in four locations.”

“They’ll have to split the team,” Tony said. “Crap, they’ll need Iron Man. And I need to grab the sensory deprivation beam from my lab.” 

The Cloak whipped around the corner and attached itself to Stephen’s shoulders, flaring in alarm. Stephen reached up automatically to settle the Eye of Agamotto securely against his chest. Sling ring sparking, he opened the portal to Tony’s lab.

“Awesome,” Tony said, striding through. “Does this mean you’ll help us out?”

“Sure,” Stephen said, and despite the urgency, couldn’t help smiling. “But you’ll owe me one.”


End file.
